Relatively Speaking...
by Happy Meal w Legs
Summary: Inspired by a spoiler..Spike learns something disturbing...


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Relatively speaking... 

a Buffy fanfic by Happy Meal W Legs

DISCLAIMER: (I know, I know, I'm sick of 'em, too...)The characters are NOT mine. They belong to Joss Whedon and the nice people at Mutant Enemy.

I lurked beside the fountain in front of Giles' house, smoking cigarette after cigarette. I really should cut down, I'm down to my last three, and I have a while to wait. I'm waiting for her, the sight of her golden halo of hair, her vanilla scent, yet dreading her at the same time, the movement of her muscular body which has thrown my sorry ass to the ground on several occasions, the smell of dust that always surrounds her. 'Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.' Drusilla muttered more than once. It's painful to think of her now, so I turn my mind back to Buffy, not a hard thing to do, since she's there, in my mind, my dreams, my fantasies, all of the time now. She consumes every thought, movement. She engulfs me, as a fire would, and O! what a pleasure to burn!

I see through his front window, Giles gets up and takes yet another book from his shelf. Lord, does this man ever stop reading? I'm safe from is gaze, I'm hidden in the shadows, now not even the ember of a cigarette to betray me, as I have just run out. I crush the butt under the heel of my boot. Not long now. The sun is long since set, and Buffy was supposed to be here at 8:30. "Soon," I tell myself, as I watch Giles. 

He stands up suddenly and goes to the cabinet where he stores his hard liquor, and pours himself a knock. This strikes me as odd. Was it something he read? Giles heads back to his desk and picks up the offending book. I sink back into the shadows and follow in along the length of his house. He places the large red volume behind the secret backing of a cabinet. 

I snort in disbelief. That's the first place thieves go. Those "secret" backs should rightly be labeled _Valuables in here, help yourself. _

He sits on his sofa with a fresh drink, his head in his hands trembling slightly. I wonder what's in that book. A horrible thought crosses my mind - Buffy! a prophecy, maybe? or something else? I make up my mind to see that book. Giles is on the phone now. I faintly hear him tell Buffy to forget the training for tonight, he's come down with something. Damn. O, well. Maybe she'll patrol tonight. I can see her there.

I start off, but duck back as I hear a bottle break. Giles leaves his house, not even noticing the pile of cigarette butts or the stirred up leaves I've left practically in the middle of his path. I've the feeling he's headed for a pub. The door's locked, but that's not a problem. I know which window's lock is broken. The only question is "has a certain couple of Wiccans been here to perform a protection spell?" It's been a while since I've been in Ripper's house. I slide through the window with little difficulty, though glad the neighbour woman was out tonight, or she'd've seen a funny sight; my back half stuck out the window, struggling as my duster caught on a hook or a nail or some damn thing. I finally tumble into the house after a good hard tug. The smell of scotch hits me. I'm determined, I want to get to the cabinet straight away, but something stops me. I head for the desk first.

A thin text is open to a chart of sorts. Upon closer inspection, I find it is a family tree; his? Yes, there it is, Rupert Giles, near the top of the page. I set the book back down and go to the cabinet. I fish out the large book, red in colour, leather binding. It smells old. What page was he reading? I finger through slowly, stopping here and there to read a passage or two, but they don't interest me. I shake my head, about ready to give it up, nothing about Buffy or Slayers in general, when I realized what I'm looking at... another family tree. I compare the two until I find a similarity. Mary-Anna Giles. Rupert's grandmother. The family tree in the larger book is bigger and more intricate. I gaze at it, starting with Mary-Anna, and working my way up the tree. I run my finger over a name...my name, closer to the middle of the page, with birth and death years. My sister's, Susanna. I can't remember her well, just flashes of her and Mother every now and then,. I trace my finger up and down the grid, feeling the rough texture of the paper. 

Susanna's daughter Victoria married Anthony Giles. Their son, Marcus and his wife, Mary-Anne, were parents to Rupert's parents. A small relation, but it was there. I laugh. "Bloody hell," I murmur, reaching for my cigarettes, but remember I smoked them all. "There must be a mistake." I shake my head, looking again and again down the pages, but find no error. The smell of scotch is starting to be cloying. I laugh again, imagining what Giles must be doing. I see him, leaning on the bar at the pub, drowning his sorrows. 'It's not really a big deal,' I think, trying to ignore the minnow in my belly and the sudden cold sweat that broke out on my back as I was reading. 

I'm going to get out of here. I'm going to try to forget this ever happened. I go back out the window I came through, after putting the books back where they were. Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow.

Author's Notes: This story was inspired by a spoiler I read: "Giles reads something in a book that disturbs him. Spike notices his reaction and waatches where Giles hides the book. He reads it later and freaks out too." I know that the idea in this story is NOT EVER plausible, I'm practically begging to be "jossed", but it is (I think, anyway) funny. -Jo 


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